Amore Attraverso i Secoli
by WickedScribbles
Summary: Throughout Ezio Auditore's life, love has come to him in many ways. Sometimes it was short and fierce (on occasion it did not last til morning), and at others, it endured to the end of a lifetime. A fic which skips time through Ezio's life, exploring bits and pieces of the women he's been with. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Un Viaggio Finito

Peace. So many times had he been teased with the thought of it in his life, of the idea of calm and stability. At last, it was upon him, not a dream or a falsehood; never again would Ezio let his chance for a rest from this life slip away. The final door had been opened and its secrets revealed, he was in the company of a beautiful woman, and together they were returning home to Costantinopoli. The journey home-or at least, where they could be alone with each other for a time-was almost complete, and Ezio had found himself too restless to stay asleep below deck in the confined quarters.

The steps weren't kind to his knees after such a long time in his cot, and Ezio winced to hear one crack. Still, the breath of breeze that ruffled his hair loose was a bigger relief than he could say. Naval travel was not what he preferred, but he had opted to return to Costantinopoli by ship for Sofia's sake. She had proven impressive on their trek to Masyaf on foot, and he had grown to expect nothing less of her, but wanted to ensure her comfort for the way back. Ezio felt he at least owed her that, for dragging her into the insanity that his life often was.

Their ship was gliding closer to the city's docks at a leisurely pace-so slowly, in fact, that it almost did not appear to move at all. Leaning against the banisters with naught but the sound of the sea and the creakings of the ship to disturb him, Ezio found it challenging to keep his eyes open. Folded deep within the familiar layers of his assassin's robes, knowing that no urgent tasks or fearsome wars awaited them on land, was enough to allow himself to relax. It was not in his nature to present vulnerability so readily; decades of training and instinct screamed out against it. But Ezio was older now, his body not the tower of resilience it once been. Although he drifted, the man couldn't help scanning the area for anything suspect before giving in completely to sleep's duress.

He hadn't even realized that slumber had stolen him until light footsteps over the deck startled him awake.

"Sleeping like a horse? Is that something you teach your students as well?"

Sofia Sartor was smiling at him in that teasingly innocent way she had-Ezio knew it well.

"I was not sleeping," he denied quickly. "I was simply...admiring the sunrise."

Eyes glittering with humor, her tongue's next words were both witty and sharp. "While snoring."

With a chuckle of defeat, Ezio held out his arms for her. "Okay, okay, _mi tesoro._ You caught me in a moment of weakness."

It delighted Ezio to no end to see Sofia come to his embrace so willingly. After all of their afternoon conversations, the work they had done together, what she'd endured for him-the physical confirmation of her nestled against his chest made Ezio feel more alive than he had in years. Most amazing of all-the full nature of his life and his work had been revealed to her, and she had taken it all in with a nod and the face of a warrior. _Mio Dio,_ how he loved her. Sofia's charm, her intelligence, her humor; they were all just pieces of the whole that made up one astounding woman. Her friendship, her companionship, was as priceless as air.

As of late, the friendship was... _more_. In the hidden depths of his mind it had always felt that way, from the moment he'd seen her and growing in strength since. Holding back the way he really felt from Sofia, doing the proper thing, acting like a gentleman, it had sometimes been a strain. Would t it have been so much easier to toss it all away, sweep clean the desk she sat behind so prettily, and take her? Yes. Yes, a younger Ezio would have done it, and with brutish haste, would she have had him. This recent intimacy set something purring deep in his chest, an assurance of mutual attraction and the promise of more to come.

Costantinopoli had drawn closer in the lull of sleep, close enough that the city's details were beginning to sharpen. The light of dawn made everything shimmer, turned the water to gold.

"Finally. I can't wait to be home," Sofia sighed. Her warm breath tickled Ezio's neck, the soft flesh of her cheek resting against his body.

"It seems as if we've been away years, no?" He tucked his chin atop her head and pulled her closer. Sofia always smelled of old parchment, the glue that bound books together, and a particular floral scent he couldn't name (Could it be tulips? It was possible.). Any of the smells on their own were enough to distract him on missions, turning his mind to the bookstore, to her, again.

" _Si._ I have so much to do when we return, but for now it's nice to just admire it all from afar."

"What do you mean?"

Sofia eyed him as if he had gone mad. "My bookstore, Ezio! My attackers reduced it to shambles."

 _Ah._ That problem. It had not been hard to set his assassins to work retidying her precious space. Now all that was left to do was see how clearly they had followed his instructions. If they tidied half as well as they killed, he would reward them richly. Not that Sofia had to know that that had been done for her yet; Ezio intended to keep that to himself. Instead, he murmured his condolences and vowed that they would get to work as soon as they reached land.

" _Forse_ you should get some _real_ sleep before then?" Sofia raised an eyebrow as she looked up at him.

"Do not underestimate me because of a little drowsiness, Sofia. I was simply too restless to see the sky I grew to know you under." Ezio placed a kiss on her temple, the sensation made rough and whiskery by his greying beard. It was ridiculous, how his pulse could take off just from being allowed to kiss her now. These moments with her had remained chaste, but this did not matter-they were full of sweetness and some measure of relief, even.

She laughed, and Ezio wasn't sure if it was from the line he'd used or the scratchy feeling of the kiss. "You missed. Let me help you." Sofia Sartor, the kind woman who had seemed so lovely and chaste upon their first meeting, brought her mouth up to his own with a warm eagerness Ezio could sense as much as feel. Grinning, he moved one hand to the back of her head to tangle into that thick mass of copper hair, moistening her lips with his breath as they adjusted against one another.

 _An old man and his_ amore _, embracing on the deck of a ship. A scandal,_ Ezio thought to himself. Sofia sighed deeply into his open mouth, and it was enough to line his skin with gooseflesh. Now more than ever he was grateful that the robes he wore hung loosely over his waist and hips-soon the ship would begin to dock, and it would be far from eloquent to enter the crowds of the city with a sword hilt in his breeches. It would be too easy to lose himself on the deck in this passion, but Sofia was right- there were still things to be done.

" _Basta per ora, mio colomba._ You, er-" Ezio glanced at a passing sailor and felt his face redden at the words he had almost uttered within the stranger's earshot. "You have a rather strong effect on me, you know."

She, too, had flushed from the spontaneity of the moment-however, it was not enough to keep Sofia from lingering a moment to stare up at him, smiling unashamedly in her enjoyment. Ezio found instantly that he liked that. He had courted many girls and women over the course of his life who had, at least at the start, acted coy or shy at his advances. There was nothing of this in Sofia's eyes, and this felt...what was the word? Refreshing? Challenging? _Si._

"So it seems." Relenting to his wishes, however reluctant they truly were, Sofia turned away from him and faced the city.

Around them, the ship was finally making preparations to dock. Crewmen appeared from nowhere in spades, shouting their sailor's terms and disturbing the peace of morning at once. Ropes were hoisted, sails adjusted, and over it all the cacophony of Costantinopoli came ringing. From Ezio's experience, it could take anywhere from one hour to many to finish it all, depending on how liquor-laden the crewmen still were from the night before. He never stuck around for the whole process. It was too tedious to bear. Already anxious from watching a few minutes of the slow-going process, an idea struck Ezio like flint.

Not far to the right of the docks, a tightly stretched, strand-thin piece of leather line spanned the space between two wooden poles. From there it would only take the hookblade, one broad leap, and presto-a shortcut of immense proportions. All that remained was Sofia's agreement.

"Do you feel like taking a shortcut, _la signorina_?"

"Would this shortcut involve doing some strange, eye-catching stunt to get us off of this ship, perhaps?"

"Would that bother you?"

"Of course not. _Per favore,_ let me in on the plan." Heart thumping with the thrill of both an imminent leap of faith and the thought of taking Sofia along for the ride, Ezio did just that.

It was to the shock and awe of dozens of citizens that they launched from the bow of the ship, Ezio gripping tightly to the hookblade with one arm and round Sofia's waist with the other. To his immense pleasure, Sofia was half-shrieking, half-laughing as they made their eye-watering descent to land. Ezio found himself laughing too, for the first time in a long time while going through the familiar motions. It reminded him of when he had first learned to claim the rooftops for his own as a young man, swinging and grappling and roaring in the face of danger. There had been nothing to lose, and every reason to be fearless. This felt the same, but with happiness in his chest instead of hatred.

Landing with a stumble, the two struggled to right themselves. There were exclamations and screams as they did, but it didn't matter. Sofia's cheeks were pink again, her exhilarated laughter contagious.

"Ezio," she began breathlessly. "I feel as if you and I are about to start something wonderful."

"I would wager you say that to all the men who carry you through the skies."

"No! Only you."

The certainty on her face was sweet to see. Grasping one of her hands in his gloved one, Ezio Auditore, lethal assassin and master to many others across _Italia_ , led the way back to Sofia's shop through Costantinopoli's bustling streets.


	2. Il letto di un amante

Sofia's living quarters were fixed above her comfortable shop, though Ezio had never seen them. As he had hoped, his students had done excellent work, following his instructions to the letter. Though he did not mention it to Sofia and spoil her happy mood entirely, the spot where Yusuf had sacrificed his life sent a pang of sadness through him when he rounded the corner. Ezio murmured a silent prayer for his fallen _fratello_ , wishing that the whole thing had never happened-the trauma to Sofia, or the loss of such an animated young man's life.

As Sofia bounced from shelf to shelf, checking her inventory and amazed to find every book in its place, Ezio spotted an overflowing bouquet of tulips tucked on a desk. Attached was a brief note scribbled on a piece of torn parchment, which read _Good luck, mentor!_ _Assicurati di non svegliare i vicini!_

He sighed, then stuffed the note into a pocket with haste. That would have to had been the work of Piero, the scrawny little _bastardo._ Quick and smart, but far too cheeky.

"Everything is as it should be, Sofia?"

She was beaming. " _Si._ Your pupils are remarkable, Ezio! It was as if no one was ever here. My work has been cut in half."

"What is there still left to do? Just name your task."

Expecting to be asked to make a run to the _commerciante di carta_ for ink and parchment, Ezio couldn't repress delight when instead she said, "How about we have our morning meal? Please, pick up whatever you like and we'll dine together in my rooms." The people of the streets, peasants and rich alike, were probably dining as they spoke. Indeed, now that he concentrated, the smells were drifting in through an open jabbed at him-also a familiar sensation, but no friend.

"As for the rest," Sofia continued, "let's not worry about it today, _va bene_? I'd like to see you put your feet up for once, _uomo occupato._ "

Now there was an idea that Ezio could get behind.

With ingredients gathered from _il mercato alimentare,_ they had a nice meal set up at Sofia's table; meat of a pigeon, various grapes and cheeses, and a bottle of wine went down smoothly between the two of them. It was a welcome change from the days of grainy-tasting fish they'd eaten overseas.

When the last of the fat pigeon had been eaten and their glasses emptied, Ezio rose to his feet to help Sofia tidy up-and was surprised to find himself unsteady on them. Had the wine really affected him so easily? He felt pleasantly warm, a little drowsy again, but it had been many years since he had been unable to hang onto his drink. His first taste of it had been with Federico, decades ago now. Ezio had downed a whole glass, his throat burning, just to prove to his _fratello_ that he was man enough to do it. Around an hour later, he'd retched in the garden, and had ended up dozing off on the roof. Federico had teased him for months.

Chuckling to himself, Ezio regained balance on a nearby wall and continued his efforts.

" _Perché stai ridendo,_ silly man?" Sofia turned from the plate she was cleaning to see him half-trip towards her.

"I think," He was smirking ear-to-ear, the lines on his face disappearing- "I may be a little drunk."

"So the big, scary killer is a lightweight with his alcohol?" She looked as if she was trying very hard not to laugh, but it didn't matter much to Ezio. She looked beautiful when teasing him-or just ever, in general, always…

"Here," Sofia was saying, suddenly much closer than she had been only seconds before. "Sit down before you hurt someone." Arm in arm, they walked around a corner into an open, sunlit room with a four-poster bed at its center. Stacks of books were piled here and there, and a few even lay open within the bed itself. A desk faced the tall window on the far wall, where Ezio was sure she loved to sit and look out on the city. The scent of Sofia was almost overwhelming, making him tremble.

"Now _siediti per favore._ Are you even listening? Ezio! I am getting you some water."

Feeling warmer than ever, Ezio perched on the edge of her bed as she had asked. Watching her bustle away, apparently flustered by his less-than-sober state, he sighed contentedly and tried lying down. It didn't work very successful-his sword's sheath emitted an awkward _clunk_ at his side, and Ezio was painfully aware of the crossbow strapped to his back. Feeling a sudden urge to be as comfortable as possible in this sweet-smelling Sofia space, Ezio set to work removing his weapons. In deft seconds, he had unstrapped the sword, crossbow, dagger, throwing knives, belt of bombs, hidden blade bracers, and belt of pouches that contained anything from poison to gold.

It was wonderful to feel that much lighter, so next went his armor. Heavy greaves of the finest material known to the Brotherhood, accompanied by matching vambraces, spaulders, and chest guard. All that remained were his assassin's robes, handwoven by a master tailor to make blending with the shadows almost effortless. These were trickier with their assortment of buckles and belts, but Ezio knew them well, and at last they too were shed. He could not remember the last time he was completely free of these robes; surely it had been some close family event, Claudia's birthday, perhaps, or Mother's passing. _Certamente_ it had been years since they had been removed in the presence of a woman who was not relation, in this sort of privacy.

The assassin was no more. In his place was a man, inhibitions loosened by wine and affection, sitting cross-legged in only trousers and a loose white shirt that he hadn't bothered to tie. In his time he had seen many things, perhaps too many, and on his skin he bore the scars of a life driven by bloodshed. Long ago he had once been able to attach a memory to each, but they were too many in number now. Only a special few still retained the privilege of coming with their own story.

"Well, don't you look rather dashing under all of that _armatura_." Sofia reappeared, holding a glass in one hand-her expression clearly said she would not be satisfied until he drank the entirety of its contents. Wrinkling his nose at her playfully, he accepted it and gulped the cool water down. "You sound surprised, _mia cara._ It hurts me."

The room had stopped tilting on its axis when he'd sat, but still lingering was that sensation of warmth that preceded a good brawl, lovemaking, or ending up absolutely wasted on some _taverna_ floor. (In his youth, perhaps all in one night.)

Sofia moved to place his empty glass on the desk, and as she turned her back, Ezio felt his cheeks growing ruddier-the laces of her dress hung open, revealing bare flesh underneath. She wore no undergarments that he could see; the entirety of her was exposed to him from here, with the long line of lacing ending just above her rear end. Excitement rushed like stormwater to his crotch, stiffening with no subtlety through the trouser fabric.

It seemed as if Sofia couldn't help but shoot him a smirk when their eyes met, but she quickly arranged her features back into stoicism. Instead of acknowledging their shared look, Sofia smoothed her skirts and sat beside him. " _In tutta serietà_ , Ezio. It is nice to see you in something more...casual." She leaned on his shoulder, incredibly warm and close through the thin material of his shirt. Ezio noted the small sigh, content on his neck, as she settled. There were many occasions-many _nights_ -when he had imagined them this way, close enough to feel each other's heat, on the cusp of intimacy. Would her skin be as soft as it looked, as yielding?

Although something in their atmosphere was crackling, it was nice to be able to lean together, comfortable against one another, without painting the air with meaningless chatter. As if they had always been this way, like old friends would-not a man and woman starting _una relazione intima_ much later in their lives than most did. To some it would seem unusual, but then again...when had anything about his life followed the tradition or rule that society laid out before the feet of men? _Nothing is true. Everything is permitted._ Even the flesh of a beautiful woman years younger than himself.

Gripped by impulse, Ezio let his fingers travel up Sofia's shoulder, their connecting point, to fuss through her hair once more. When one hand became tangled in the small net she used to pull most of her hair back, Ezio tugged it loose in one quick motion. Cascades of auburn tresses spilled loose like a rain of fire, framing the face of the woman he would soon claim as his _amante_ and making her look of surprise that much more enticing. "There," he said, casting it to the side. "Now the both of us look a little younger, a little _più selvaggio_."

The disposition of her face had changed. It wasn't the state of her hair that had changed it, the way it splayed messily over her shoulders and around her face. It was her eyes. They weren't playful anymore, they were… God help him, he wasn't a wordsmith at the best of times. They were like a cat who is watching a mouse. _Predatore._ Ezio's heartbeat had become audible in his ears when he noticed the flush of color on her breasts, the way she pressed ever closer.

"Ezio," Sofia breathed. One of her own hands reached out to him, carefully alighting on his exposed collarbone. Her touch was butterfly-light, but it still rose gooseflesh on his arms. "We are not the years we have lived, but the experiences we have had. I read that and thought instantly of you. I thought of how you must have the most young, adventurous heart inside your chest." ( _And the most_ cazzo senza valore _back of any man my age,_ Ezio thought.)

"And what of you, Sofia?" Ezio shifted sideways, one leg on either side of her torso. Wordlessly she mirrored him, eyes never leaving his, until she was kneeling upright in his lap. "You are both soft and strong, wild of spirit and gentle of soul. What does that make you?"

There was no space between them now, no room for thought that was not dizzy with the rush of her, of love, of sex, so close that it almost had a taste. Never had his nerves threatened so badly to spill over at the thought of being with a woman. Federico would have laughed to see him now, when once he'd been so eager to woo any _carina giovane donna_ who winked an eye. Was this simply age? Was it the gap of time that had passed between her and the last woman he had taken? No. She was a _maga,_ an enchantress.

"I think that might just make me your match." Her lips nearly spoke the words onto his own, and he could stand it no longer-he attacked them.


End file.
